A Three Legged Workhorse
by Xyliette
Summary: Set in late Season 2, various points in time wherein Derek and Addison think that their marriage may just be on the road to reconciliation. Derek/Addison.
1. Brutalism & the Worship of the Machine

A/N: So this small series of one shots is really just an attempt to start writing more frequently. I'm challenging myself to one per day, probably five over all, and we'll see how I do. Also, sometimes I think I need to purge a little Derek/Addison out of my system so I can go back to everything else I'm working on. All cut text and title belong to _This Will Destroy You_. Thanks for reading, enduring my writer's blockage, and enjoy-

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A Three-Legged Workhorse  
- This Will Destroy You  
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Addison can't help but smile about the two word text that just popped up on her phone. To someone else "need groceries" could mean a variety of things, but in her world it means only one- that she and Derek are going to attempt to put food in the trailer other than trout. Her jovial mood will not be ruined with details, with questioning if this will be exactly like New York, or some second version since they are married but currently (secretly) hating each other in Seattle.

She decides to do something new, take it at face value. The rest will follow.

"Someone's happy," Miranda Bailey remarks, pressing hard on her pen, the papers in the chart imprinted more than stained by the time she finishes.

"I am," Addison replies, instead of some variation of 'I'm always happy', which they both know is a lie.

"Well, it looks good on you," Miranda smiles, turning her in head in approval. "Tell Shepherd to keep it up."

Addison feels her cheeks run hot, embarrassed that this is about a man, but it is and she nods as the younger woman strides off to go maim another intern. This is possibly the best she's felt since arriving, her marriage slowly starting to slide back into its normal routines.

Three days of bouncing, pen chewing, and pacing have her on the brink of insanity. As calmly as she can manage she negotiates her car into the chosen stall, searching for her husband's vehicle in a sea of unrelenting rain and deep puddles.

The back of her head is telling her not to get her hopes up, not to let herself soar so high. That way the fall won't be quite as devastating, but she can't help it. They're going to walk down each and every aisle, pile the cart high, and then in three weeks she'll end up throwing most of it out. It's wasteful, but their attempts still count for far too much to stop. Plus, sometimes she comes home to the most wonderful smells filling the adorned walls.

Nothing amazing has been cooked in the trailer, except fish from a river, gutted on the porch, ten feet from where she sleeps and she doesn't think that counts. She wants a meal, something substantial with him, some time to simply sit together and breathe the same air. And this is the first step. That is, if he can get here within the next ten minutes (forty really, because even though she says she won't sit here and wait, she will).

At minute twelve, still wrestling with her own indecision, a sharp knock on her droplet laden window startles her into choking on her cinnamon gum. Unfortunately, he's always kind of had this effect on her.

"Addie," Derek says loudly, grinning at her as she reaches for her throat in exaggerated reaction. "It's a little wet out here."

On her way out the door she grabs the still damp umbrella from the passenger seat. Despite the odd looks, glares she thinks for being inferior to the constant downpour, she finds her husband with his head of sopping waves safely huddled with her. It feels nice, to have him within inches, to know she could reach up and brush his hair back, if she wanted.

But she doesn't want to waste a perfectly good moment on something like that. Instead she shakes out the contraption and then throws it in the end of cart with a squeaky wheel. Always picking the bum shopping cart no matter where she is, she pretends to pout when Derek feels the need to point it out, his coat coming to a rest in front her her, his sleeves rolled up.

There's a tiny portion of her heart exploding over the fact that he showed up, another larger chunk fizzling with the reminder that the likelihood of this being what it was before to them is a chance so slim she shouldn't wager any emotion. Daringly, she swerves toward the bread aisle, only to have the cart jerked back around suddenly.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks, surveying row number ten.

"I was-...I don't know," Addison shrugs.

"We have a system," Derek points out, knowing that bread comes almost last, so it doesn't get squished by anything heavier like vegetables and frozen pizza.

"We do," Addison stammers unconvincingly, the jeans from her day off of reading and channel flipping starting to feel just a touch too tight. Then she remembers to exhale completely.

When they rush by the canned soup section, Derek refusing to even look because his mother has thoroughly spoiled him, Addison gets a wound up in what is happening. Derek picked out the apples while she mulled over the lettuce selection, and they mutually decided that oranges were out of the question this week. He loaded up the cart with his horribly bland cereal before throwing in a box of Fruit Loops just for good measure, earning himself a subtle smile. Then she caved in and allowed more frozen boxes of crap into the cart than have ever been in there before.

Because there's penance to be done everywhere, she supposes, even a forlorn, deserted grocery store.

She sneaks a kiss in by the bags of sugar that will never be useful in their home, and she notes that he captures her lips just a touch longer than usual, even nipping at the bottom one when she pulls away first. Ten minutes later she looks down, and has to remark, out loud, over how small the trailer refrigerator is in comparison to what they are used to. But Derek assures her that he has space for everything, so she blindly puts her faith in him, and saunters off to retrieve the ice cream they forgot.

"Plain chocolate?" Derek asks, eying the carton as it finds its new home nestled amongst the oatmeal and bottled water.

"Sounded good," Addison replies wistfully, and pushes the cart forward, purposefully running into his hip. When he tells her that she's going to pay, she doesn't doubt him, but, for the first time in a long time, she doesn't mind something other than an idle threat. She can take the tickling, being pinned to the mattress, she's spent her nights worse ways. She doesn't expect, however, to be ambushed by a handful of crackers after she turns the corner to catch up with him.

Her mouth purses together, in faux anger, her fingers working the crumbs out. She'd admonish him for being such a child, for potentially getting them yelled at by the teenager who is mopping floors, but it's better to see him like this. He's away from the hospital and not locked into the trailer staring at the ceiling or avoiding her by dashing into creeks, waders drenched in mud and slime. No, instead, she embraces the war and plucks a green grape from it's cluster and takes aim at his head.

They call a truce when an employee sneers at them, and finish up their shopping in an silent but agreed upon hurry, to avoid any further unwanted scathing. She helps him load up the back of his car, and he journeys across the lot to hers, in a very charming way that reminds her of when they first started dating.

Perhaps they're overcompensating here, trying too hard, but it's still infinitely better than spending her night off alone daydreaming of these very times.

He kisses her cheek gently, choosing not to pursue anything in the rain that hasn't let up but brags that he will beat her home, offering up grocery duty as the punishment for the loser. Yes, she recognizes now, it's too much, but it's effort and if he's more willing to go this route then she'll play along for a while (until the game is worse than ignorance, weeks at least, she'd say).

Thirty-five minutes later, the trailer's light cascading into the darkness of the forest, Addison arrives in second place. She has a protest ready and waiting, road construction, but her face falls when she enters the trailer and he's retying his shoes. "I'm sorry Addie," she hears and closes her eyes tight, hoping that she won't hear the next bit of his sentence, "Huge accident on the freeway, Richard needs-"

"It's okay," Addison interjects, she doesn't need the full edition, she's heard it too many times to count. She turns back around to get the rest of the bags out of his car before he takes off, and is caught by the arm, and spun around. "What Derek?" and she can't help the edge of annoyance that comes seeping through.

"I...had fun," Derek swallows, finally taking a good look at her. Hair down and rumpled, probably because it went from up to down to up all day while she fidgeted with her free time. Face remarkably clear and free of anything but mascara. Clothes, plain but still somehow in good taste. Patches of water have soaked through her sweater, leaving blotches on her thin white t-shirt. He thinks it's the most relaxed looking she's been since moving to Seattle, she may have even spent the earlier part of the day wandering around in his confiscated sweats.

"Me too," she admits, attempting a smile and coming out somewhere between a frown and a grimace. 'I'm...I'll," she pauses, tugging her sweater tighter, "go get the rest of the stuff and you can go."

"Addison-"

"No, it's fine. I'm fine. It's good...I'll...catch up on reading...something."

"Richard said he needs both of us," Derek explains to her.

"No one paged me," she argues, checking her purse once more.

"I told him I'd tell you, he apologized for ruining your day off, but we need to leave quickly."

"Derek, I-"

"Addison, you look fine. You're just going to stick your hair under a scrub cap anyway," Derek groans, leaning back against the counter, preparing for battle.

"I was going to say," she speaks over him just a touch, "that I still need to grab the groceries."

"Leave them, we'll take your car," he suggests.

Never mind that they've rarely ridden together, for one reason or another (needing the space to breathe for once probably the biggest winner on the list). Addison feels floored for a second. "The frozen-"

"I guess we'll just have to go again," Derek grins, grabbing his briefcase, and her purse from the "dining" room table. "Maybe tomorrow."

She leaves out the fact that this is completely asinine, and that there are starving people all over the world that would gladly take the food they just purchased, and marches along behind him, crickets sawing their song into the night, stars attempting to burn through the clouds.

"Tomorrow would be nice," Addison murmurs, surrendering the keys, and sliding against the cold leather of the seat that will soon be heated under her skin. She leans her head back sleepily, allowing herself to jostle along with the twists and dives of the dirt path, Derek humming next to her. The road spins along side of them, a blur of yellow, white, the headlights catching the oddest of shadows cast off into the trees.

Tomorrow may hold an insurmountable measure of pain, regret, and loneliness, as so many of their days together do, but for now she is content to think of the spoiling food back at home and the promise of just one more trip for groceries in their future.

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	2. Burial On the Presidio Banks

A/N: 2/2! A miracle. Enjoy-

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A Three-Legged Workhorse  
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"Addison," Derek groans, his head thumping against the thin door that seals off the shower from the rest of their tiny tin can home. "Come on!" His horrible mood was prompted by her hot breath on his neck this morning, and while he used to love being inseparably close, this has not been the right week for anything. And even though his good common sense tells him that she got home roughly four hours ago, and that curling up under him was probably a subconscious movement in her sleep, he can't help the edge in his voice.

She's everywhere, her shoes are everywhere, and it's getting progressively harder not to forgive her and just move the hell on with life. But he's trying to be stuck in time, transcended and pummeled with memories. It's barely enough to keep his frustration coursing reverently.

Plus, now his hair is drying, sticking up unconventionally in every direction. And she knows it takes longer to manhandle and style when it's dry and not damp. "Two strikes," he mutters, stretching out on the bed, listening to the cascading waterfall a few inches away. He can literally hear her light singing, the rattle of the shampoo lid, and her curse as she presumably cuts herself shaving in the enclosed area.

Ten minutes later, he rises once more, jeans now wrinkled, blue zip-up sweater bunched around his wrists. He knocks loudly on the door, listening for the break in her tone, only to realize that it's already silent. "Addison, seriously, you have been in there for-"

"Stop whining, your hair is fine," Addison greets, breezing past him, tying her robe tighter but not before flashing him a bit of the skin he used to love caressing. "Where's the coffee?"

"Drank it, I had a lot of free time this morning," Derek replies curtly, dipping into the condensation coated room, attempting to see his mess of waves through the fog. He can't deny the smell that attacks him. Pure Addison, and he instantly switches back, inhaling deep.

Constantly teetering, tottering over where he stands.

"Thanks for making more," Addison snaps back at him, reaching for the bag of coffee and using a spare cup to measure in a hefty amount. She needs mud today, to get through the next twenty or so hours of torture and hell. Sometimes she wants to disappear, and sometimes sleeping in the on call room really does feel like the most reasonable option, but she doesn't want to open that door again. Not for him, not for her.

Because trying takes effort, even if it is slowly suffocating you.

"Sorry," Derek breathes, her light scent staining his nostrils. He remembers burying his head in her pillow on the nights when she was away, recalls unscrewing the lid off of every bottle in the bathroom trying to find the exact mixture, back when he was lovesick and lonely. He never did come up with the right blend.

He decisively runs a comb through his head, trying to get one side to lay flat so he can coax it into place. "You see what you've done!" Derek yells, a smile positioned on his face, as he pokes his head out of the bathroom.

"You cannot," Addison chuckles at the stray clump of hair standing straight up in the middle of his head, "possibly be blaming that catastrophe on me." While her drink percolates and brews she takes time to admire the hair that she used to toy with whenever they had a free moment.

"It's all your fault," Derek teases, disappearing once more, fruitlessly searching for the most potent of hair gels among his set.

Her laughter dies dead in her throat at his remark, something callously similar to what he said when she arrived months ago, but she decides to take the other route. With a large breath she overcomes the insecurity that has mounted in his absence, and strides forward, crowding herself into his personal space. "Gimme," she instructs, holding her palm out. She feels the instrument slap against her flesh, and takes the time to intensely study her subject, much like she would a patient.

She works feverishly, combing, twisting, spraying, patting, and to no avail. Derek's hair needs a hat today, and that's not an option. Maybe a scrub cap he can get away with. She can feel him squirming under her hands, legs twitching from side to side. "I think I may have to call it," she jokes, earning a loud moan.

"Add-ie," Derek whines suddenly, stilling her fingers, dragging them down in front of his waist.

"I'm sorry, I did everything I could," she recites.

"Help," he begs.

"First you yell at me, now you want help, that's rich," she says playing with the hem of dark blue fabric that makes his eyes explode. With all the bad sex they've been sharing lately she's rather insatiable and it's downright reproachable to go that angle in the tedious air they are displacing currently. "Then again, you always-"

"You want me to suffer like this all day?" Derek interrupts pitifully, playing a game that he always wins. He smacks the unruly patch of hair once more, frowning at his reflection. They used to do this, he would talk her into assisting him, carefully negotiating his unruly mop until perfection was struck. The last time this happened, the last time he could look up and see exactly this, must have been at least five years ago. Her face is duller now, compromised with sadness, and there's no hiding how out of shape he has gotten. He blames the all of the alcohol for the sad state of affairs they find themselves in.

"Not my problem," Addison shrugs, being caught by her forearm as she tries to escape.

"You don't want to help your poor husband out just this once?"

"Husband?" Addison questions haughtily, moving toward her steaming cup, "I seem to remember someone drinking all of the coffee this morning, and I don't think it was Doc." The dog jumps up at his name, winding himself around her legs, and she nearly topples into the table covered in cereal bowls and journals.

They're simply playing make believe, she tells herself, no harm there. A little fantasy certainly never hurt anyone. It's nice to tease and prod and let conversation flow, even if it is achingly hollow and forced. "You're going to owe me."

"Owe you what?" Derek asks, leaning against the bathroom door, pouting as best he can. Some mornings, some nights it's just so damn hard to even say anything to the redheaded she-devil, but today's not as horrible as he thought it was going to be. In hindsight, he fears his broken heart may be healing faster than previously assessed.

"To be determined," Addison says quickly. It's much too early and she's had far too little sleep to keep this going. In the days of old, perhaps a quick roll through the sheets would be payment enough, but for now she'll do it just to shut him up so they can be on their way. As it is, they are already running late, and have both been notoriously bitchy all week. Their co-workers could stand a break, she's willing to bet.

"Deal," Derek agrees, moving out into the main space of the trailer so she can have better range of motion. He seats himself at the table, and receives another cup of coffee to sip while she tackles the task.

A welcome silence fills the air, both happy for the reprieve. It never used to be so difficult. Neither imagined that this point in their marriage would ever occur. Naivety, however, was quite the let down.

"Addison?" Derek murmurs when she pulls back and heads toward the bedroom to grab a pair of shoes.

"Hmm?" Addison voices, rifling through the unorganized cupboards. Every time she goes searching the damn things pop open, spring-loaded with disaster and remembrance of the things she brought with her from New York, all from varying stages of their life together.

"Thank you," Derek says softly, when she returns, tugging on one shoe and hopping sideways.

His sincerity, or veiled genuineness, catches her attention. It's the first real thing she's heard him say in days, maybe even weeks. Something besides, "What's for dinner?" and "I'm not off until..." It's meaningful, in a sense. This time she smiles honestly, gently touching the top of his newly tamed mane, "You're welcome."

She's surprised when he grabs her hand and clings tightly as they march through the parking lot toward their separate offices, but nothing prepares her for the goodbye kiss she receives as a small compensation for her efforts.

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	3. I Believe In Your Victory

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A Three-Legged Workhorse  
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After a while things accumulate. Drenched from the shoulders up, and knees down, Addison plows into her office, glaring at Richard as he gives her a sympathetic look. Pity is the last thing on Earth that she needs. A good hug, a husband who will pick for once, or a strong drink are other options, however. And since she can't get sloshed at work, has no friends who will wrap their arms around her (or the pathetic desire to ask an acquaintance), and her husband has spent the better part of his week ogling another woman, she seems to be about out of luck.

Addison throws her soaked umbrella into the corner, missing the designated holder, and not caring that there is a line of water from the door all the way across the floor. Then she kicks out of her heels, grumbling to herself, and quickly unwinds the intricate pattern she choose for her hair this morning. Yes, she's starving for attention. Yes, she's attempting to grab his eye. And no, it's not working.

Yesterday she purposefully picked out a skirt with a much higher slit than she found appropriate for work and got up early so he'd be sure to see what she had chosen. The only thing he said was that he was planning on being home late and that they should take separate cars in. And as she prepared to leave for the evening she noticed that his name wasn't anywhere on the OR board, simply that he had assigned himself to an extra shift.

He's evading. He's unsure. He's terrified.

All she wants to do is talk to him, because she knows him, knows how he's reacting and why and there aren't enough ways to apologize or express her guilt. But she doesn't know how to make it better, how long to wait before she unpacks her spine from one of the many suitcases cluttering the trailer. It's the waiting that's killing her, that and her husband firing her up deliberately by openly flirting with a girl much younger than him.

There's nothing she can do, her hands are tied. Bound, wound, and stuck to her marriage. Because she loves him, and she's positive that he loves her, even if it makes them hate each other and themselves in the process. She can't give up on someone who gave her the best years of her life, can't walk away in a fit of despair because she didn't know what angle to try anymore. She doesn't know how to have that conversation, never has.

So she waits. And she cries.

In cars, in empty galleries, in closets. Far more than she's accustomed to. But this is her punishment to bear, and she sinks down against the smooth leather of her chair, burying her head in her hands, tears coursing down whatever parts of her face that have managed to dry.

When Miranda Bailey asks why she's congested all of the time she says it's because she hasn't adjusted to the climate. When Richard gets that look in his eyes she tells him that he knows she has allergies, and that Seattle is pressing all the right buttons. In more way than one.

Addison sniffles into her sleeve, thankful that she's so overbooked that most of her day will be spent racing around in the new blue scrubs she is forced to wear. She has to blend in, after all. And just when she thinks her day couldn't possibly start off worse (Derek gone when she awoke, no note in sight), she realizes that she most definitely did not shut her blinds and now the entire staff taking their breakfast break can see that she is emotional time bomb ticking down.

Just off to the side is Meredith Grey and her goons, ashamedly looking away, but she knows what they've seen and rises, yanking her stethoscope from a drawer and slamming her office door on the way out. The reverberating noise makes her feel the tiniest bit better.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Her day went from bad to outright horrible at three o'clock when she lost not only a mother but also a set of very premature twins just two hours into their tumultuous lives. The father, Jeff, exploded, having to be restrained when she announced that his wife died during a rather routine procedure, and now she gets to deliver this crippling blow, swiping the last bit of hope out from under his unstable feet.

"Mr. Murphy?" Addison squeaks, poking her head into the waiting room that he has taken to pacing.

"Yeah?" he croaks, looking up at her like she has all the answers.

"I came...I need...sit down," Addison stammers uncharacteristically. She's usually so focused, so driven at work. She knows the speeches, lines, can recite them from memory. She's been slapped, hugged, sued, and everything in between. She has a plan for all contingencies, but here, in Seattle, she has fallen apart.

"What is it?" he asks nervously, picking up speed. "Are they okay? I know you said they were early, but they were good, right? They're good? Can I see them?"

And she freezes, head swirling in the tornado of her failure. Normally, she'd explain, and soothe. She'd rest a hand on his arm or offer a tissue, but she just can't break this man again. He stopped being a patient's husband, it's gotten too close for her, and much like her earlier years she now has a problem drawing the line. Her personal life is smudging over into her professional one and she loathes it.

"Maybe...in a little while," she nods. "I just came to check on you."

"Oh," he grins, water littering his eyes, "thanks..."

Slowly, reassuringly, Addison steps out of the room and makes it ten feet down the hall before slamming back against it, taking deep breaths. And because today is not her day, the husband she hasn't been able to locate is standing at the nurse's station staring at her, watching her hover over the edge of another glorious breakdown.

She feels his arm lead her to the left, hears the door click behind them. "What?"

"What do you mean what?" Derek replies. "You looked like you were going to either blow up the place or have a panic attack out there. You tell me what," he demands, sitting down on the empty table, swinging his legs slowly.

"It's nothing," Addison gulps. They all have off days. They all have traumatic experiences at work, it's a job hazard.

"Addison-"

"I've killed 9 people this week Derek, 9," she blurts out suddenly. It's not a record, but it's damn close. And yes there was a massive accident on Tuesday, and today accounts for one third of her ratio, but it still stings.

"We all lose patients Addie, it's part-"

"Don't," she interjects, "just don't...do that." She hates when he shuts down and goes all high and mighty on her. Like she just became a doctor yesterday and she's three years old.

"Okay," Derek sighs, at an impasse.

"I have to go inform my dead patient's husband that both of his children weren't able to survive either, excuse me."

She wrenches her arm free of his tight grasp and narrowly escapes sobbing all over his well used shoulder.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"You said you would take care of them, I trusted you. I trusted you!" Jeff shouts angrily.

Addison is squirming in her seat anxiously, trying not to leave too early, attempting to block out a majority of this self-esteem ruining tirade. "Mr. Murphy-"

"How...how could you? How did this happen!"

"Their lungs weren't fully developed, they-"

"You said you've done this a million times before!"

"And I have," Addison nods sadly. All with varying results, most positive, some not so pleasant. She can see Richard pacing the hall, wondering what all the ruckus is about.

"You were supposed to make sure they were okay...they're gone, and...I never even got to hold them. I never even touched my own children."

"Again, I am so sorry-"

"Sorry isn't getting us anywhere," Jeff mumbles, subdued by his loss.

"No, it isn't," Addison agrees, rising, exiting thankfully. Just outside the room she can hear the soft whimpers of a grown man at rock bottom, and even though it's not her fault, it is her fault.

"Here," Derek speaks up, gathering his body off the ground where he was patiently waiting.

Addison accepts the Styrofoam cup he is offering to her, smelling the delicious hot chocolate swirling beneath her nose. "Juju," she whispers.

"Sounded like you could use some," Derek grins.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Derek replies, brushing a light kiss to her temple, a hand wrapping around her back as he escorts her toward the elevator. "I traded shifts, I'm off in two hours," he says once they are safely enclosed, alone, no one daring to get trapped with them, even though they are perfectly civil most of the time.

"I need to go check on a few things and then I'm done," Addison responds, leaning against the climbing wall. She frowns in thought and then decides to go ahead. "I'm...sorry about earlier, I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"Yes you did," Derek argues.

"Ok, fine. I did, but-"

"I asked for it," Derek finishes understandingly. "I forgot some things...when I moved...I'm working on it." He forgot how tender she can be, how fooling her exterior often is.

The elevator interrupts them both before another phrase can be shared, and Addison is pouring out of the machinery, legs stretching and striding as he calls after her.

"Addison!" Derek shouts once more, above the bustle of the hallway, but trying to not draw anyone's attention. Finally she stops. "I was thinking-"

"Oh goody-"

"Never gets old, does it?" he asks rhetorically. "I was thinking earlier today that a bath sounded nice."

"Yeah," she concurs wistfully. They have a shower. A teeny, tiny shower with no water pressure and two quarts of actual hot water at a time. She's never washed her hair quicker.

"Maybe you could find us some place with a great bathtub, and I could get dinner on my way, Chinese."

"Snappy Dragon?" Addison asks, referring to her personal favorite, and not Derek's House of Hong pick.

"Sure, Snappy Dragon," he tells her, secretly hell bent on believing she only likes the place because of the name.

"Really?" Addison asks once more, not to jinx it, but just to be sure her day actually pulled off a turnaround of sorts. Of course the real victory will be when he arrives with their dinner and they let it sit for cold as they enjoy the scalding water and dim lighting. God, she misses baths.

"Just let me know where."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Addison relaxes against Derek's slippery chest, feeling his hands begin to knead at her tight shoulders. He actually showed. No message boy telling her that her husband was busy, no voicemail to let her know about an emergency surgery. Just Derek, wet hair, and two bags loaded with Snappy Vegetables, prawns, egg rolls, and whatever he ordered. Her eyes slide closed as he flips on the comforting jets of the tub, bubbles rapidly building around their locked form.

It's not her best day in Seattle, but all in all it wasn't as bad as she thought it was going to be. Yes, old Derek probably would have stepped into the room when Jeff raised his hand at her (even though he dropped it seconds later) and she probably would have gotten a hug or two by now, but bath time with a husband who isn't pretending she doesn't exist (even if he is pretending she's another woman) is just enough to rectify the day, to keep her dreams alive for another week.

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	4. Freedom Blade

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the support and reviews, it's nice to see that there are still people out there that enjoy this pairing. Denial is wonderful, no? Enjoy-

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A Three-Legged Workhorse  
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The hardest thing is who they've become.

It's difficult for Addison to reconcile the Derek who used to make her breakfast in bed and squeeze her hand when she got nervous during rounds with the man who now openly calls her Satan (not in the good way) and protests her very existence. And Derek is stubborn. Derek is petulant. Derek is reacting.

But still, this isn't the man she married, nor the man she ever thought he could and would be.

Because when Addison thought of their future she saw them adding to the Shepherd pack of children and long summer weekends spent at the beach chasing waves. She saw professional success, personal triumph, and love outstanding. In Seattle, she has professional success, personal heartache, and one-sided love outstanding.

But what she doesn't know is that the hatred is a common thread, because Derek hates who he is now too, but at the end of the day he can't take his anger out on himself, and she's the closest, most willing, and arguably the most deserving candidate for the job.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Unfortunately for Derek, the Addison he has now (affair excluded) is pretty much the person he married. Hell, the length of her hair has hardly changed over the years. She's confident (more so in her career now), loyal, and a master of deflection. The changes he's seen, the changes he loathes are things, that if he was being utterly candid, he would have to admit he helped bring on. The incessant need for his affection, he took her to a place where she had to fight for it. The arguing, it was the only way she ever won, was to get him enraged enough to yell.

But Derek isn't candid. Derek isn't honest. And Derek isn't done hurting.

Because she screwed his best friend. Because he's always been a little insecure with himself, arrogance be damned. Because his mother raised a sensitive and fragile man.

When Derek looked forward all her saw was Addison. The white picket fence, the house, the kids, the dog. Those things weren't in the picture. Just Addison.

She shattered his dreams in one shot, severed the tie between reality and hope. And even though he knows she still loves her shoes, and that her brilliant red hair is ever as fascinating as it was. Regardless of the fact that she still cannot cook, and that reading is one of her favorite ways to pass time, she is not the same Addison that he married, even when she is.

What Derek doesn't understand is the level of desperation that the evening had to accumulate, the level of sorrow she endures each and every day for causing their relationship that failure. Derek doesn't realize how much she's grown to fear looking in the mirror every morning.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Coffee?" Addison suggests as they race through the halls of Seattle Grace toward the M & M that Richard said they couldn't skip.

"Can't," Derek replies.

"He won't notice," Addison argues. "I doubt he'll even be there the entire time-"

"Busy Addison," Derek says before picking up his speed and leaving his wife to find her own seat.

Eventually, she ends up next to him anyway, offering him a piece of strawberry poptart as his eyes begin to slide shut.

He takes it begrudgingly, because he missed breakfast, and he has a soft spot for all things sugar. "Thank you," he mouths silently, getting a slight grin in response.

It was always one of the things everyone said they hated about the Shepherds the most, their food sharing. Fruit, cereal, water, beer, granola, all fair game. They were accustomed to eating together, to offering a piece of beet or carrot.

Once they were selfless. It didn't carry over into many other parts of their lives, but this seems to have stuck.

On their way out of the room, mostly half-awake, Derek yawns.

"Coffee?" Addison offers once more. "I have a few minutes before I have to scrub in."

"Me too," Derek confides, and instead of racing off to speak with his intern, or his next patient he indulges in a quick coffee run with his wife, her head leaning on his shoulder as they wait in line.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

It's easy to hate her when she's not in front of his face all day. When he doesn't run into her in the halls, bump into her at the nurse's station, and accidentally end up stealing her charts because he sees his last name on them.

When they're on opposite schedules, days off, and on call shifts. When he never shows up for dinner, she never wakes up for breakfast and both take lunch during non-lunch hours.

Then hating his wife is second nature. He storms the halls as the victim, pining over his lost love, his missed opportunity.

But when she spends nights with her head on his chest, their fingers tangling absentmindedly, he can't. When they partake in the occasional drink at Joe's after a particularly brutal work day, it's harder then.

Because she still smells like home. She still laughs in a way that makes his chest tingle. And when she smiles she lights up the room.

Fortunately, smiles and laughs are in short supply lately, and he's rarely close enough to catch a whiff of her irresistible scent.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Addison can't think of one single thing that she doesn't miss about the old Derek. From the way he used to blurt out his feelings randomly (during her first solo surgery), to how he used to play hide and seek with his nieces and nephews while the grown ups were busy gossiping and griping.

But it's hard to miss Derek when she never sees him.

And avoidance isn't really that difficult of a clue for her to notice, not now, not after everything they've put each other through. Some days she'll battle it, search for him. But mostly she takes to hiding in her office while trying not to wonder if he's even cared that he hasn't seen her in two days.

Sometimes though, he'll bring her coffee before the alarm goes off in the morning, and he'll let her shower first. Sometimes he'll grab dinner on the way home so she isn't stuck with tea and toast, and occasionally he'll accompany her to the trailer.

And those instances, much like their coffee run earlier in the week, make her see why she is still doing this.

Because the old Derek is still buried underneath the bull-headed one, and even if, in the end, she has to blend them together, it's still going to be worth it.

He's worth the war she's waging, but she's never sure if he's fighting with her or against her.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

When he told her he was trying, when he admitted he was sorry, what he meant was, "I'm afraid I'm still in love with you, so don't leave yet."

And when all she could do was utter a muddled response of yeah/okay, what she meant was, "I don't believe you, but I'm staying anyway."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

He finds her studying the OR board lazily, eyes never really reading, and yet mind understanding everything in front of her. He was always jealous of her, in that sense. She worked hard, but this thing that they do, she was born to do it. It was only his drive that propelled Derek forward into success, he was not a natural as they say.

"Hey," he greets softly, not breaking her concentration.

"Hi," Addison replies, stuffing a wriggling hand into her lab coat. After all these years that voice still makes her knees weak, makes her heart flutter uncontrollably.

"Anything good?"

"Not really."

Derek smiles and knows exactly what to do. Pin The Tail On The Donkey, surgery style. "Addison," he begins.

"Derek, please, I...have a massive headache and I...just not today," she pleads, fingering her scalp for effect, her hair tightly pulled back for more than twelve hours.

"Close your eyes," he instructs, placing his hands on her shoulders. He can see the nurses watching them intently, they do make up three quarters of the interesting stories here, him getting along with his wife should reach the top floor in ten minutes.

"What are you doing?" Addison asks, as he begins to turn her around, careful not to trip on of her high heeled feet.

When he's positive that she doesn't know which way she's facing, people staring at him like he's an idiot, he guides her toward the erasable board she was reading before. "Go on," he urges, his hands sliding to her hips. Hesitantly he watches her lift an arm, the corner of her bottom lip entrenched in her white teeth.

"An Appy?" Addison groans, opening her eyes to the square she has landed upon.

"You always did manage to pick the most boring procedure," Derek remembers. "So, what do you say?"

"How about three?" Addison negotiates, as she always used to.

"There's nothing in three," Derek mumbles aloud.

"Exactly."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Derek watches his wife stretch out across the uncomfortable plastic chairs, letting her head fall into his lap. She's quiet today, he notes, fingers beginning to unwind her hair, weaving, tugging, straightening until he can play with his new toy how he likes. He traces light patterns over the head that she says is pounding, gently trying to ease the tension and pain.

With his free hand he pulls an energy bar out of his pocket, rips the package open with his teeth, and bites off a chunk. Then he places the rest, in its wrapper on his knee, right in front of her closed eyelids.

He can't help but smile when she rips off a piece and chews it with a crinkled nose. "Gross," she mutters, mouth still full.

She always hated these things, and there is comfort in that after all they've suffered, all they will continue to endure, that some things can never change.

He may dislike her presence most days, and loathe that he is being forced into getting over it. And she may tire of working for his attention, and want to give up the manhunt for the real Derek C. Shepherd. But the mornings of coffee, the torn sections of a shared blueberry muffin, and tiny minutes they steal away from the rest of the world that thinks they know their entire story so well- these are the things that keep them from cutting their losses and running.

Because in spite of the wreckage they've set on fire, sometimes the most promising part of Derek and Addison's day is also the idea that keeps them up at night spinning endlessly. It will haunt them forever, who they've become.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**


	5. Happiness: We're All In It Together

A/N: I can't bring myself to end this series so it will probably just be one of those things that I add to for months upon months because I love them, even when they hate each other (especially when they hate each other). Also, this is the third thing I've written in three months, and I can't begin to explain how much that sucks. Anyway, this had a mind of its own so I hope you do enjoy-

**_~-~-~-~-~-~  
A Three-Legged Workhorse  
~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Too often Addison finds herself forgetting what it is that they are fighting for, or more correctly, what she is fighting for. Too often she can't pluck a reason from the vast universe as to why she should continue hunting him down in the wide maze of the hospital. She can't force herself to breakdown into a woman who pleads and begs and cries for attention every single day of the week (in the form of petty fights and incessant battles over who can be out of the "house" longer). No, she lets it build within, until the pressure pops the top off and she finds herself alone, wound into delicate, fresh bedsheets and surrounded with nothing reminiscent of the life she used to know.

And when the pain swoops, the anger pools, and the loneliness if outright suffocating, that is when she seeks the familiar old comforts. Alcohol, a long distance call to her one sane relative, reassurance from Nancy that this is the right thing and that Derek is simply stubborn, and that she knew that getting into this. Surgery used to be an option, but with Derek in and out of the ORs next to her, it's hard to feel calmed.

It's hard to feel like she's doing the right thing here, and the wearing is beginning to become evident in her professional life as well. She's falling apart at the seams, literally, and it's unbecoming.

But on the rarest of occasions she'll find him squirreled away in his little nook of an office, papers hanging from the desk edge, a pen twining through his restless fingers. And sometimes he'll look up at the knock on the door, and when she steps in, she'd swear she sees something other than complete contempt, something other than hatred.

And it's those moments more than the highly effective vodka and barely receptive calls that pull her through this, that propel her to think that there has got to be something more left in their gas tank. That maybe their public arguments and humiliation can be worth it in the end, that this soul draining expedition isn't going to leave her empty handed and mortified.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Hi," Addison announces, tiptoeing into the well used carpet of his third floor hole. Derek may have gotten the job first, but he certainly didn't get a view. She's the star, a redundant fact of their marriage.

"Hello," Derek greets, reading over his latest patient roster, groaning as it mounts with the ill, sick, needy. This time of the year is always particularly brutal, but the one redeeming feature used to be his personal life. Perusing store windows and catalogs with his wife, manhandling the giant tree of her choosing into the wide brownstone front door, and helping her place a star on the top of that tree.

It was the one time of the year that he could unearth himself from the death that shrouded his career and really feel alive.

"What time are you off?" Addison asks tentatively, trying to make herself at home on his couch, (trying to look like she belongs) shoving a few articles out of the way in the process. Her feet curl under her stocking clad legs, highest of heels discarded a mere second before.

"I don't know," Derek mumbles, burying his hands into his graying locks. Sometimes he thinks surgeons should have their own rooms just built in so they never have to leave during the holidays. He can't even begin to think about how much time he has wasted by driving out to the trailer only to have to turn around on the way or worse as he's pulling into the driveway.

Everything just feels like a crapshoot lately. He can't win on one side or the other. Wasted, all of it. It's hard not to be _Bah! Humbug!_ when all you can see when you close your eyes is his hands on her legs; when she is a living, breathing, annoying souvenir that it never used to be like this, and in vivid red detail how she swiftly ruined it. He can't not compare it to the Christmas before, the non-spoken truce that seemed to form, or all the wonderful years before that.

It's their season, an aching perpetual relic of _the way it was_, and it makes him want to strangle himself with the tiny twinkling lights that showed up everywhere in Seattle before Thanksgiving this year.

"I'm off in two hours," Addison volunteers. And she knows better than to beat around the bush with him, because when she does the hinting thing it only leaves her madly disappointed and alone. "I was hoping we could get some of our Christmas shopping done, I'd really like to have it shipped by Thursday, because I don't know how long it takes- better to be on the safe side—Derek?"

"Hhm? Yeah, Addison. Thursday will be enough time," Derek replies halfheartedly, half-minded.

"Can you meet me?" Helpless hope winds through her lungs, tearing, shredding until he responds. And she hates that she is such a girl, and that there is no better way to explain it. It hurts constantly, every knock sends her overly sensitive nerves into frazzles, pricking little holes of doubt into her plan of action.

"No," he says gruffly, not even taking a split second to think it over. Buying presents with her, anything with her for their family...it's just not a step he can take yet. If anything the holidays are ripping them further apart, not bringing them together. "I'm sure whatever you pick will be fine. You know them, they're vultures, they love it all."

"I was hoping we could do this—we haven't spent much time together lately-"

"Not now Addison," Derek sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose annoyed. The whining side of her is something he can't take today. He doesn't have the reserve energy to placate her, to build her up.

"Derek," Addison repeats, trying to find some shaky ground to stand on, to start demanding things. She needs a moment with her husband that doesn't involve pagers, and thick charts. She needs a moment where they can get back to being them, instead of the disaster they created.

He walks out of his own office, the door slamming, before she gets a chance to say anything more.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

The melancholy atmosphere inside the damp trailer is unmistakable. She can hear the rain pounding, assaulting, the metal roof above her head. There's a mug of steaming tea on the bedside table, and she's wrapped tightly in a fuzzy robe, thick socks on her chilly feet. Her rings slide around her finger with ease, and she can't bring herself to move her head to the pillow only a few inches away. So instead she stares at the empty space beside her, sliding her leg into his territory.

He used to make himself unavailable for remedial surgeries and procedures. He used to set aside time during the holidays for them. He knows how important it is for her, how difficult this time of year can be when you come from a screwed up background. Once he told her he'd never leave her alone on Christmas. That lasted until year eight. It was a far cry from the beginning of the end, but it was in that moment that she saw the impending doom, the fate looming over her shoulder, snickering at her naivety.

They weren't impenetrable. They weren't some magnificent couple deflecting divorce. They were just in denial, and slow. And all that added time, all those additional memories only make it more difficult to get up and walk away.

As her tea cools, and she notices for the first time, the distinct lack of festive décor, she nudges her head under the orange pillowcase; seals her eyes shut from the building storm, inside and out.

Sometimes it's better not to see the world they've made. Tonight is one of those nights.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Derek believes that Christmas makes you want to be with the people you love. And that list was always easy for him to make. His parents, his siblings, his extended family, and Mark. Eventually Addison made it to the top of the heap, and this year, there's no one he loves anymore. Not even himself.

He jabs the blue pen into the thick stack of papers before him, watching with delight as the end snaps off and ink begins to saturate his notes. It doesn't help that the entire hospital is like the set of a Christmas card, beaming with glee and joy, waiting for their time off to shine. And it enrages him, and he loathes that he's turned into that annoying jackass who hates the holidays.

He hates that she took that from him, too.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Derek?" Addison questions, stepping into his office for the second time that week, finding him asleep against the keys of his laptop. She nudges a cup of outsider coffee onto the edge and lightly runs her fingers along his scalp until he rouses.

"Addie," Derek gurgles, grinning when she pushes the container of caffeine forward for his taking. "You got me coffee," he mumbles into the carefully carved plastic top. It's not from the cafeteria or the coffee cart.

"You didn't come home last night," Addison states plainly, trying to keep all emotion at bay, leave it as a fact.

"I lost a kid," Derek grieves. An eight year old boy, who spent most of the exam time coloring reindeer and elves in his well used book. It was a long shot, they all knew it, but Derek was really hoping for a Christmas miracle, because if anyone deserved such a thing it was the Jackson family.

"Oh," Addison nods. "I'm sorry," she frowns, watching him straighten his scrubs. It doesn't excuse the lack of a phone call but at least he didn't fall asleep at his desk.

"Yeah." Derek blinks and swallows the taste of fresh roasted beans, smooth and rich, seductive and renewing.

"Is this it?" Addison asks, looking down at the ragged chart that really needs to be given back.

He couldn't bear to part with it, analyzing every last detail. And yet, he did nothing wrong. Just no luck. Derek doesn't answer as she begins to leaf through the circumstances that took a normal everyday surgery and spun it into a drastic, challenging event that he lost.

"Honey," Addison mutters unaware, lifting the last little bit, and setting it all back with a sigh large enough to encompass the entire room. "You did everything you could."

"I know," Derek replies, and most of the time that's enough. Generally, he can distance himself, but this case was different.

He's never sure how he manages to wind up in her arms, but his head rests reluctantly against her shoulder, small circles sending shivers down his spine. It's a little cold in his office this morning, but she's warm enough for both of them and for once he merely takes a huge breath and holds on; lets Addison do the comforting for once, because he needs it, because you always want to one who broke your heart to be the one who helps mend it back together.

It's not really astonishing that they feel infinitely better about life as he begins to pull away, (placing a quick, gratuitous kiss on her lips as he goes) but it is as close as they are going to get this year. Nothing is resolved, as ever, but there is resolve momentarily.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**


	6. Leather Wings

A/N: Nostalgia is mean, especially when Brother has just decided to get into this show. It's like a magnet, if it's on, I'm in the room...and here we are. Enjoy-

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
A Three-Legged Workhorse  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

The water drops from the leaky shower head keep her company on cold, dewy mornings. Addison is stuck against the wall, head full of shampoo, exhausted and trying to work up to shaving. It probably won't happen, she reasons, as she slides carefully down the freshly washed tile, the plunking cascade now plowing into her shoulder. Sometimes the broken shower seems like her only constant, her only friend on chilly nights when Derek is missing and still can't bother to fix the heat.

She may as well be living in the harshness of the woods, she's certain he'd get a good laugh out of that.

But for now, she attempts to stretch out her aching limbs, wanting the scalding water to hit everywhere as it seems to only reach her neck and right ear. It won't fix anything. Bubble baths, nights of vodka, endless apologies, they aren't fixing what she allegedly broke.

This morning sealed it for her.

Feeling a bit daring, especially after finding herself alone again in the sheets, she drug out her running shoes and found an almost clean long sleeved blue shirt that would stand up to minimal wind and her heat. And the further she got down the trail, the better it felt. The better her lungs stretching, trying to accommodate the long lost hobby, and her feet pounding into unsteady terrain felt. She passed a patch of poison oak carefully, not wanting a repeat performance, and nearly tripped over a protruding tree root.

Her breathing was beyond labored, headed dangerously toward something else, but when she saw her husband, Doc (who she neglected to notice was missing), and Meredith Grey fifty feet ahead of her, instinct took over. She darted behind a suspicious bush, and watched as her heart wrenched in her chest from a lack of oxygen (though she would later swear it was shattering ever more).

They never touched, never shared more than simple eye contact, but it was enough to send Addison into the weird hug of trepidation, and passive aggressive trends. Because she could never say she saw him, never accuse him of something she hasn't seen.

She doesn't have that kind of leverage anymore (he made his own number three, they don't move and he still holds it against her in every conversation). So she retreats, and turns to the shower to help wash away her pain.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Three days later she's seeing it in her dreams. Meredith's gentle laugh, Doc chasing after a stick, Derek's hands stuffed into his pockets, not in tension, but a sense of ease she hasn't seen in years.

And deep down, there's a sincere happiness. Because old Derek is still under there somewhere, the one she fell in love with, and there's solace in knowing she didn't alter him that profoundly.

But old Derek isn't anywhere to be found inside the trailer where they spend time together by sitting in opposite "rooms" in silence. They "read", and then pretend to be asleep. It's a game, seeing who gives in last, though neither knows the prize is only deprivation.

Five days out from her run and Addison prepares a dinner she knows he won't show up for, but she's always been a bit of a masochist, even though old Addison wouldn't have put up with this insanity. But old Addison didn't have something to prove to everyone, to herself. Old Addison had a seemingly stable relationship that no one questioned.

At day seven, Addison thinks she may be officially losing it. She's too tired to hold herself up and apply mascara but she doesn't realize it until ten minutes into her morning routine when the image staring back at her in the mirror doesn't match what she wants to see. New Addison has bags under her eyes that are getting harder to cover, and new Addison cries far too often for old Addison's liking. New Addison is barely recognizable.

She wonders if this is part of why Derek can't stand to be near her.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

It's steaming tea that's helping her get through it. Aiding her through Derek's cold cheek kisses and fake attempts at their life. Well tea and Miranda Bailey, who, despite her no-nonsense policy, has made a small exception at the troubling life and times of Addison Montgomery-Shepherd. She tells her how it is, not how old or new Addison want to believe it is, and it's the stark breath of fresh air that's keeping her sane.

"You look horrible," Miranda greets, standing next to Addison, who has her nose buried in a wad of tissues.

"Spare me," Addison begs horridly.

"You're sick," Miranda accuses, drinking in the lanky form next to her that is using the counter as a resting spot, her nose severely congested, cough sounding like a pair of boulders being clanked together.

"Seattle hates me," Addison declares, hands stretched upward.

"Seattle is a city," Miranda reminds her, feeling something oddly reminiscent of sympathy. "Why are you at work trying to infect all of my interns?"

"I'm not contagious, no fever, and I feel fi-" a sneeze cuts the redhead short but Miranda gets the gist.

"You are not fine. Come with me," Miranda demands, but stops short when there is no movement behind her. Addison scrubs at her eyes, smudging her eyeliner and Miranda decides yelling might be something she responds to better, "I said come with me!"

She watches the lifeless attending drag her silly stiletto feet behind her, and gently convinces her that maybe she'd like to lay down somewhere. Miranda suggests an exam room, but Addison refuses to play the role of a patient and instead picks her own office with an unbearably rigid beige couch suited for an unbearably beige office.

Miranda administers the medicine as she would to her own son, stopping just above making airplane noises, and she gets the distinct impression that Addison Montgomery-Shepherd doesn't "do" sick, it's undignified, and she says as much when she rises to round on her post-ops.

"Karev will handle that, it's what he's there for. Learning," Miranda soothes her, paging the male Shepherd for the third time. Eventually, after watching Addison settle against a thin pillow and bury her feet into her wool coat, Miranda gives up and pages him from Addison's number.

Maybe it'll grab his attention.

But three hours, a cup of chicken noodle soup, and jag of crying about her pathetic life later and Addison still has no husband to drive her drugged up head home.

Miranda Bailey is running out of patience.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"You are an idiot," Miranda notifies Derek Shepherd before slapping the back of his head as the rest of the crowded elevator watches on interested.

"Excuse me?" Derek asks, rubbing the sore spot.

"Can you read?"

"What kind of a question is that?" Derek wonders aloud, looking around at all of the people who think him to be the most competent surgeon on the floor.

"It's a- answer me!"

"Y-es," Derek stammers, still confused as he is shoved out of the elevator and down the hall.

"Must be all the damn hair then," Miranda decides.

"Look, Dr. Bailey, I don't know what we're talking about," Derek confesses as they come to a rest in front of an office door.

"I've paged you, your wife has paged you, the nurses have paged you-"

"I was performing a craniotomy on Mr. Rivera-"

Miranda twists the handle, shaking her head at his ignorance and always prepared excuses, and she can't possibly fathom what it must be like being married to this egotistical jackass. But then, that's none of her concern so she instructs him much like a few weeks ago to stay quiet and be nice.

This time she doesn't leave. She doesn't trust him.

"Addison?" Derek questions, staring at the pile of wasted, crumpled tissues in the trashcan next to her. Her makeup is basically non-existent, her clothes wrinkled, shoes discarded by the desk. She hasn't looked this disheveled in his presence for years. The impenetrable has fallen, to a plain cold no less.

"Derek," Addison breathes, forcing her lungs to wait until she's done with her mouth for their turn. Her throat is on fire, head feeling like it's floating off into space, and really she should have seen this coming, she should have felt the familiar twinge of aches and cottonmouth long before this overtook her system but she was too busy remembering the way Derek turned toward Meredith Grey on the trail, the way he smiled with her, the way he looked so relaxed.

She was busy and now she's paying for it. Like always.

"Miranda, I'm fine," Addison insists, sitting up woozily and extending a stocking covered toe for her pointy heel that's too far out for her to notice.

"You shut up," Miranda points at Addison, because if she has to hear about it anymore or see her for the next three days she may put her hands around her neck. "And you take her home...and do whatever it is you do when she's sick."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Derek wishes he couldn't remember what it was he did when she was sick. Hell, most of the time he wishes he couldn't remember most of their marriage, it would be a lot easier to hate her and a lot less painful that way.

It'd be easier to feel less like a jerk for just watching her suffer, wound up in a hundred blankets, sheen with chilly sweat, and shaking.

Old Derek would wrap her up in his arms and not care if he got sick, but this Derek has a very busy day tomorrow because half of today got pushed into it and he resents her a little for taking his time. Not that she asked him to come home, not that she's said one word to him in so many days he's lost track. But he's tired of being out of coffee in the morning, or being out of cereal, or of being late to work because she turned off his alarm when he wouldn't budge.

So he hasn't seen the trailer in the better part of a week, not since her last overnight shift, then it was safe to nest here and not have to deal with...any of it.

He can hear her mumbling something, breaking his reverie, and he used to love sick Addison because she was incredibly vulnerable, but he has no desire to be part of the pity party. He hangs back, making her lunch in the kitchen. She isn't hungry, in fact she recently threw up all of the soup Bailey fed her, but it's a good reason to not have to go see what she wants.

Offhand he can think of fifty other places he wants to be.

He leaves at seven-thirty convinced that he can catch the next rotation of nurses and see what he's missed out on. Addison is asleep anyway.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"You left me," Addison sniffles, clutching an orange pillow and staring at the black television. The remote is too far away to reach without making her queasy and for a split second she can see concern splash over his face. It's quickly replaced by anger, however, and he shrugs out of his sweater and balks something about a work emergency which she knows to be untrue because Bailey cleared his schedule, and speaking from experience, no one messes with Bailey.

"I saw you, with Meredith, walking Doc."

Derek blinks. She's been holding onto that, he can tell, the way it's forced out. And had she not been delusion and ill, he doesn't think she would have brought it up. New Addison is too over it to yell and scream about Meredith anymore, but sick Addison has some spunk. He blinks again, and there's nothing to say so he doesn't, just continues undressing.

He didn't do anything wrong, but he's betrayed her. He can tell, the way she rolls her eyes and sinks back into the bed. "We're friends."

"Friends," Addison repeats lamely. She's pretty sure a condition of her moving here was that she didn't speak about non-work related items. This is bridging into a whole other sector. She's held up her end of the bargain, stuffed away in this tin can, taking in his new life.

"She- I need a friend," Derek tells her, down to his socks and boxers. He's actually going to get into bed with this disease but then changes his mind. He shucks off the comforters and knitted blankets, accidentally almost ripping Addison's favorite one and then proceeds to tell her to take off the ridiculous hat and mittens she's wearing and to get naked. She scowls, but knows better than to think that it's anything sexual, especially with their recent forays.

Derek turns the tap of the shower on and waits for it to warm while she stands shivering. "This- it doesn't change us, Addie. I'm still...trying."

Even sick Addison and old Addison know that this changes things, but new Addison is kind of a take-what-you-can-get person and merely bristles by him as she climbs into the hot stream he suggested.

Standing feels futile.

And so she sinks onto her knees and settles back to her old nook, barely looking up into the steam when he joins her and reluctantly sits, forced to pull her onto his lap so they both fit. Her messy red hair tickles his ear, and her head finds that one spot against his neck, and Derek sighs.

"This is my favorite place," Addison admits to him, then coughs, leaning forward as he digs his fingers through her drenched tangles. She can feel him smile against her cheek, and he probably thinks she's crazy.

And she may be.

But the coursing droplets that fall inelegantly from above are on her left tonight, not her trusty right, and it's just enough to keep her in the punishingly brutal game of loving her husband.

That and a strong dose of cough syrup.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**


End file.
